Spectrum
by Arugentine
Summary: Four drabbles, dealing with Yukimura and two Sarutobi Sasukes. [MxM pairing.]


Disclaimer: Samurai Deeper Kyo belongs to Akimine Kamijyo.  
Warnings: M/M pairing. Pairings alternate: Shindara/Yukimura (referred to as Sasuke in first part) , Yukimura/Sasuke, repeat.

**Spectrum**

**1. Candlelight**

Yukimura slides the door open gracefully, despite the fact that it slams loudly against the wall. In the hazy candlelight, Yukimura is flushed yet pale, like the red moon against the white. His elbow is resting on the door frame and he stands with a certain curve to his body that is disturbingly appealing. His overcoat slides off his right shoulder and that smooth expanse of neck looks so unguarded. "Sarutobi Sasuke," he announces, slurring all the vowels, "I think I'm very drunk."

Sasuke tilts his head slightly and a strand of long, night-black hair falls over his shoulder. There is amusement in his deep voice as he says, "You think?"

Yukimura smiles and like always, it is dazzling. He allows himself in, gliding to stand before the other man, smelling of expensive wine and seduction. He lowers himself to his knees, and surprises Sasuke by teetering forward until he is on his hands as well, leaning dangerously close with a predator's stance to accompany his predator's stare.

Yukimura opens his mouth, runs his tongue over his teeth, and then says, "We are going to war soon. The unrest among the nobles is worsening. I think that we will finally have a chance to rule this land. What do you think, Sasuke?"

Darkness creeps into Sasuke's expression, a terrible knowledge of something yet to come, but it dissipates quickly, expertly hidden with practiced indifference. He is silent, eyes straying down the dip in Yukimura's back, the contours of his exposed throat. He can feel hot, ragged breath on his chest, focused eyes tracing the line of his mouth. "Only you can say something as bland as that looking as you do."

The Sanada laughs, throwing his head back in reckless abandon. Suddenly, his hands are on Sasuke's collar, tugging them down with arousing impatience. Sasuke's hands are creeping under the gaudy yellow jacket to brush fleetingly over his shoulder blades in a tempting butterfly's touch, tangling itself in Yukimura's silky hair. Somehow, between gasps and shoves and trying to eat each other whole, Yukimura chuckles and murmurs, "Only you can say something as bland as that in return."

They only do this when Yukimura is intoxicated (intoxicating). They only do this on quiet, lonely nights when they can afford to let down their carefully built-up walls an inch, when they can fool themselves enough to think that they can trust each other better than their enemies. They do this when they know that everyone is asleep, away from prying eyes and prying ears, where no one can witness what they do and make them admit to it in the morning.

Despite the supposed intimacy of the act, Sasuke believes that it is only an indulgence. Passion doesn't exist in the worlds of men like Yukimura. Hearts are such troublesome things. The whole ordeal is silent; no one says a thing. If it hurts or not, there is no one to admit it. In the morning they are always in separate rooms, sleeping separate sleeps, dreaming separate dreams plagued with separate demons.

Sasuke smiles against the other's wet mouth, surges forward and pins Yukimura to the hardwood floor with the length of his body. He feels dizzy and delirious; it is a side-effect of having the other man so painfully close, skin brushing against heated skin and the friction makes him go mad, burning in the chilly night. In a flash of blinding whites and slanderous scarlet, he lets sensation after sensation roll over his senses, flattening them to a paper-thin dimension consisting of touch alone, adamantly refusing to think of tomorrows.

Tomorrow catches up. Three days later he leaves without a word.

**2. Moonlight**

The boy he found has not said a word. He walks behind him, slowing himself when he is about to fall into step, hurrying himself with a bright sense of panic when he thinks Yukimura might disappear. This strange humbleness is oddly endearing, but just as pitifully sad to see. Yukimura tries to encourage him, pausing in his step and extending a gentle hand, but the boy merely looks at the thin, clean fingers and lowers his head.

Dusk falls, the sky has cleared, and he is surprised to see that with the boy's silent guidance, they are a good distance away from the perimeter of the Sea of Trees before they have to set up camp. He breaks out a bottle of sake and toasts the moon for the wonderful view. Their campfire crackles and sputters, drawing moths to its flame.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the boy staring at him in something resembling skepticism, amusement and awe all at once. Yukimura raises the mouth of the bottle to the small, round face. "Would you like to try some?" he asks with a deceptively friendly tone, while sloshing the contents of the bottle around cheerfully, "It's very, very good, thought you might be a little too small to have some."

The boy looks at the clear liquid as if it were poison and backs away, wrinkling his nose and scowling. He emits a sound not unlike an animal growl, small and untamed. The leaves rustle on their branches in the windless night.

Instantly, Yukimura is on his feet. The boy goes quiet, rising without a rustle of cloth. The bottle is corked and placed carefully in the moist dirt. "It seems as though an unwanted stowaway has followed us from the Sea of Trees. Stay close to me," Yukimura warns, but it falls on heedless ears. He turns in time to see the pale-haired boy jump into the canopy. Five seconds pass.

The monster's shredded carcass falls lifeless to the ground and stains the earth a vivid violet. While Yukimura stares, the boy returns to his side, staring curiously at the cut on his palm. Yukimura wonders if this is the same fallen figure half-hidden in mud, beaten to the ground and left carelessly like garbage. He wonders if this face is the same set of eyes that had been so wide and unguarded, wanting to cry.

Slowly, Yukimura kneels and forces the boy to meet his gaze. "What is your name?"

The boy tries to shy away, but his chin is held in place. In a quiet almost-whisper voice, he says, "Sasuke." He stops, closes his mouth, lacking a surname. For the first time in many years, Yukimura is truly surprised. Fate, he is reminded, has a worse sense of humor than he does. Then, it hits him.

It will be unfair, offering a cursed fate to a person who has never known better. It will be difficult, calling him that same name. Yukimura cups the bewildered face with both hands and begins to burn the image of this child over the tall, dark shadow looming in his memory. It is exactly the sort of thing Yukimura would do, tempting fate like a fool.

"Will you stay with me," he asks, "from now on? You have no where else to go."

Sasuke's eyes dart around, for any hint of deceiving, for any chance at betrayal. He only sees the starry sky, the clay wine bottle, and Yukimura's pleading face. He looks at his blood on his palm and remembers the lilting voice that broke the monotony of the rain. He looks over his shoulder at the Sea of Trees and hears Kotarou's angry voice. He looks out at the dark horizon and realizes he has never been there before.

"Yes," he mumbles at Yukimura's blooming smile, "I will."

**3. Firelight**

"I didn't expect to find you here, of all people," Shindara says, sweeping into the room without so much as a knock, coming towards the bed and staring down at the Sanada he used to serve. His eyes narrow as the other man looks up, a half-empty cup still in his hand, and smiles innocently. Yukimura is hardly intimidated. "What do you think you can accomplish by sneaking in here, Yukimura?"

His eyes are closed as he widens his smile. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shindara." When he says it, he makes the name sounds bitter and vile. "I'm just here to help the Mibu. After all, with their power, I'm sure they can take care of the Sanada clan better than I can. I personally think I made a good choice. Plus, that's awfully mean, always thinking I have an ulterior motive!"

Shindara's eyes narrow, straining to focus on the familiar face rather than the familiar body. "It's because you do always have an ulterior motive, and I'm sure you have one now. Whatever you're planning, Yukimura, don't expect to get away with it. Everyone's watching you here; you're not amongst friends like you were back with Onime no Kyo."

Yukimura feigns a gasp. "But I thought you were my friend, Shindara," he begins, but his voice quickly degenerates into something more rough and lethal. He rises to his feet, invading what could be considered the juunishinshou's personal space, standing a precious two inches away. He lifts his face and smirks. "At the very least, we were something more than friends, before. Don't you think?"

Shindara notices three things. First, Yukimura is not drunk. Second, Yukimura forever smells like alcohol and clean sheets. Third, this is not before. There is a new person walking in his place now; there is nothing in this situation that is the same. He retreats politely without losing face and closes his treacherous eyes. "Your wiles no longer work on me, Sanada. Save them for your pets."

"I have no pets," the other answers, too easily and truthfully, "only friends."

Shindara frowns. "Easily replaceable friends."

"I have no friends who are easily replaceable. Enemies, however, come and go." Yukimura says this with terrifying ease, without missing a beat, as if it were a mere observation. He says it so peacefully that it takes even Shindara a moment to remember who it applies to. When that moment passes, Shindara sneers, distorting the tattoo on his cheek, but Yukimura is relentless, cruel. "Would you like to hear about him?"

"Who?" He watches as Yukimura's face hardens into sharp edges that glint in the flickering light and knows the answer before it spills out of that elegant mouth. The room is lit by lanterns that cast shaky shadows on shaky people. There are crickets making a racket outside. The moon is only a sliver of white in the darkness; the stars shine brighter than she does. Once again, he is reminded that there is nothing the same.

"About my Sarutobi Sasuke," the Sanada answers, reclining on the bed.

Shindara notices the intended yielding position, the purposely slanted look. He notices the pale skin, the smooth curve of Yukimura's back, the exact way his clothes fall on his form. He notices the new, cleverly concealed scars, the callouses on the fingers, the challenge in those eyes. More importantly, he notices the possessive, fond tone of that voice when it says the name he used to own. And there is nothing the same.

"No." He leaves the room as quietly as he came.

**4. Daylight**

Yukimura leans back on his elbows and downs the last drop of his rice wine with a sated sigh. It is winter, the air is brisk and cool, and outside, last night's snow begins to melt. Water drips in from his window, collecting on the floor. The puddle ripples, and Yukimura dons a winning smile. "That was very fast."

From the shadows, Sarutobi Sasuke unfolds from his crouch and frowns disapprovingly. "I was nearby," he says as an explanation, "and that's all. Saizou told me you wanted to see me. What do you want?"

Yukimura beckons him into the light pouring through the window. When he approaches, Yukimura reaches up, places one hand on his shoulder, and pulls him into a seated position using force of will rather than force of strength. "You shouldn't be so jumpy all the time, Sasuke. Especially today."

Sasuke shrugs away. "Yukimura," he says, exasperated, "what do you…!" He breaks off because his voice retreats into his chest, because when his back hits the floor and his muramasa digs into his spine, he loses his breath, because when those half-lidded eyes are so close, leering down, he can't focus on anything else.

"Today is your sixteenth birthday, Sasuke," he announces.

Yukimura's breath is achingly hot when it fans across his face; it makes Sasuke's head swim. Feebly, his mind attempts a last-ditch effort to save itself. "Get off, Yukimura, what do you think you're doing?" When he squirms, he is suddenly aware of the other's thumb hooking under the hem of his shirt and pressing into his hip and stills, eyes wide and golden.

Yukimura patiently watches as Sasuke's eyes slide towards the empty bottle nearby, watches as the childish features twist in distaste. "I'm not drunk," Yukimura whispers.

"The hell you aren't," Sasuke mutters unhappily.

There is nostalgia in the look Yukimura gives him. It reminds Sasuke of Shindara, of what Saizou told him about the ex-jyuyuushi when he had asked. It makes him angry and he shoves the suddenly unwelcome weight away. When he gets to his feet, he sees Yukimura on his back, blandly look at the ceiling and somewhere, it hurts. It's just his bruised back, he thinks.

"Thank you for the birthday wishes, Yukimura-sama, but I would rather not be used like that for your drunken fits," he snaps, turning to storm out, but there is a hand grasping his in a grip so strong he can't tug away.

Yukimura sighs and pulls Sasuke off his feet, into his chest. A calloused pair of hands cups his face, effectively quieting him. It is a familiar motion; Sasuke remembers it from his youth.

"I'm not drunk," he says fiercely, eyes clear and sober. As his expression eases into a gentle smile, he adds, "and I'm not using you. I thought I told you that a long time ago, never to say things like that again. Now, I'm going to wish you a happy birthday properly. Are you ready?"

The mischievous glint has returned and it makes the shinobi flush, sputtering as his defenses erode. "Stop kidding around with me!" he shouts, attempting to draw away as Yukimura closes the distance between them. One last pause, their gazes lock, and Sasuke feels the very last piece of his built-up admiration for the man crumble into something entirely different, sees the same strange thing in Yukimura's face, doesn't know what to do.

"I'm not," and his lips crash down.


End file.
